


Lyra's Request

by mothermalfoy (MsLyraMalfoy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Dark Draco, F/M, Implied Murder, Lyra Malfoy - Freeform, Trans Draco, holiday 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLyraMalfoy/pseuds/mothermalfoy
Summary: When Lyra learns that Harry's never decorated a Christmas tree, she goes to Hermione to figure out why, but when she learns of the Dursley's and how they treated Harry, she's determined to enact her revenge.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Lyra's Request

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a Christmas story based on an ask for Harry decorating his first Christmas tree, and really took a DARK turn. I tried not to be too explicit with how dark it gets but I will warn you now that it’s not the sort of Christmas story you’d expect. Think Mrs. Potter if you remember that fic from me. 
> 
> The implied murder tag is not for the main characters, just the Dursley's.

“I’m sorry Potter, did you just say you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree?” Lyra looked at her boyfriend indignantly. Harry huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes,” he said. It had always been something of a sensitive subject for him.

“How is that even possible?” she asked.

Harry sighed, he hadn’t really wanted to get into this, not now anyway, but Lyra ever the perfectionist Slytherin that she was, had been annoyed when Harry had tried to put the tinsel on the tree before anything else and had insisted that Harry was doing it wrong. Harry had merely shrugged, explaining that he had never decorated a tree before, and now Lyra was giving him that look. 

Much had changed between them since their days at school, Lyra herself wasn’t the same person she had been back in Hogwarts. But that same Malfoy look of indignation and scorn never quite left her features. She was kinder, for the most part, and certainly happier than she had been in school, and she did her best not to ever send that look Harry’s way. Unfortunately for Harry, the look she was currently giving him was far worse. Pity.

“Let’s just change the subject,” Harry said putting on a fake smile that he hoped would end the subject completely. Lyra merely frowned, she knew better than to argue with Harry when he got like this, but Harry suspected this would not be the last they spoke of it either.

“Right well, since this is your first tree, I suppose you can decorate it how you like,” she said, kissing the side of his head.

“It’s _our _tree,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around her waist. Lyra smiled happily. They had just moved into a flat together in London, out of the dreary Number 12 where Harry had spent far too long for Lyra’s liking. She laid her head on his shoulder and the two stared for a moment at their Christmas tree. It was a lovely thought that they should have this tree together. Lyra had even agreed to decorate it the Muggle way, though she couldn’t imagine why such a thing would be necessary.

“It’s more intimate,” Harry had insisted. Lyra had merely sighed and acquiesced. She could never quite say no to her boyfriend. Not that she wanted to, she _loved _to see him happy, and if decorating a tree by hand was what it took, she supposed it was a small price to pay.

Later that afternoon, Lyra snuck out to do a little Christmas shopping, and meet Hermione in Diagon for a drink, and to get her advice. The two had become surprisingly good friends during their 8th year at Hogwarts. Hermione had been instrumental in Lyra and Harry getting together. So naturally, as Harry’s oldest friend, Hermione was the first person Lyra went to when she could see Harry was shutting down about something.

“What do you know about Harry’s childhood?” Lyra asked as they sat down.

Hermione gave her a look then, a cross between concern, and something else she couldn’t quite place. “How do you mean?” she asked clearly trying to school her features into something a touch less obvious.

“Harry’s never decorated a tree,” Lyra said.

“Oh,” she replied. Trying to make it sound like more of a question than a less than surprised acknowledgment.

“How is that even possible?”

“Well…” Hermione sighed, clearly choosing her words carefully.

“Please, I need to know what’s going on with him, you know what he’s like.” Harry had seen a mind healer to deal with many of his problems after the war. Unearthing trauma upon trauma had really helped him a great deal more than perhaps even he realized. The trouble was, being communicative had never really been his strong suit. He was communicative with his therapist because he was paying them, and because Lyra had threatened to leave if he didn’t, but actually being vulnerable and honest, was a struggle for Harry. He had always been expected to be strong for the rest of the Wizarding World, and although Lyra had assured him that she did not want him to feel as though he had to be strong for her, he did it anyway.

“Harry hasn’ really ever told me or Ron about it either,” she admitted. “We only know what we’ve seen first hand. Ron told me once in second year that Harry had bars on his windows. And when the Order broke him out in fifth year, he had locks on his doors and a cat flap. The only thing he ever _did _tell us was about the cupboard under the stairs.”

“The what?” Lyra asked, horrified. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“For the better part of the first eleven years of his life, Harry lived in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Lyra’s eyes widened, “That’s awful,” she said tears welling up in her eyes.

“It is, but Harry wouldn’t want us telling you about it I’m sure. He doesn’t like to talk about those times.”

Lyra sighed, and nodded, she knew this of course, but just thinking about all of it made her terribly angry. “Do you happen to remember their names?” she asked.

Hermione took a sip of her tea and tried to think, “Dursley I think it was,” she said. “Why do you ask.”

Lyra smiled sweetly, “No reason,” she lied.

After tea, Lyra and Hermione went their separate ways. Hermione, back to the Burrow to meet up with her wife, and Lyra, to the Manor to speak with her mother.

“Lyra, darling, this is a pleasant surprise, I didn’t expect you and Harry over for a while yet,” Narcissa said.

“Harry’s not with me,” Lyra replied, giving her mother a hug as she stepped out of the floo.

“Oh?”

“I wondered if I could speak to you.”

“Of course darling, is something the matter?” Narcissa asked. She knew her daughter well enough by now to know when something was amiss. Lyra had a look in her eye, an unmistakably devious look that suggested she had a plan.

“Do you still have any contacts from the War?” she asked, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, looking around the room, “However do you mean darling?” she asked, pulling out her wand, and casting several privacy spells around the room. After she was certain the room was sealed up tight, she slipped her wand into her pocket and eyed her daughter. “I assume you’re looking to have someone tortured?” she asked.

“In a matter of speaking,” Lyra replied.

Narcissa smiled despite herself. “And here I thought Harry made a good girl out of you.”

“Harry doesn’t know I’m asking you about this,” she said.

“Who did you have in mind?”

“A Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,” Lyra said.

“Do you know where they live, what they look like?”

“Oh damn, no. I know they’re Muggles.”

Narcissa nodded, “Do I want to know the why?”

“They raised Harry,” Lyra explained. “Locked him up, made him live under a cupboard, and that’s just what Granger knew about, Salazar knows what they did that Harry’s never admitted to. I want it to look like a Muggle crime of course.”

Narcissa nodded again, “Consider the matter handled,” she replied.

Lyra smiled, “Thank you mother,” and with that, she made her way back to the floo.

*

Several days later found Harry reading a Mugglepaperat breakfast. On the front page of the paper sat the headline: **Christmas Day Massacre**. Lyra eyed the headline with a smirk. Beneath the headline, a photo of a normal looking house, with police tape outside.

“Enjoying your paper darling?” Lyra asked. Harry looked up from the sports page, apparently having missed the front page entirely.

“Manchester’s not doing so hot, but otherwise, it seems fine,” he shrugged closing the paper. For a brief moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t notice the front page.

“Oh dear, look at that,” Lyra said, pointing to the front page. “A family was murdered, and on Christmas day too.”

Harry eyed the front paper, “Hang on,” he said putting down his tea. “I know that house.”

“Oh?”

Harry picked up the paper urgently and scanned the article. “Number 4 Privet Drive. That’s… where I grew up.”

“Is it?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“I wonder who lives there now,” Harry said.

Lyra looked at him, “How do you mean?”

“Well my aunt and uncle moved away before the start of the war,” Harry said.

“Did they ever move back?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, “It doesn’t say the name of the family. But I’m sure someone would have notified me if my aunt and uncle had been killed.”

“Would they have?” Lyra asked.

“Typically next of kin is notified. I mean they have Dudley, but he and I are on good terms now, so he would have told me at the very least.”

Lyra frowned at this, “Excuse me a moment, I have to… use the loo,” she got up quickly from the kitchen table, all but sprinting towards the library to fire call her mother. She had almost made it when she heard Harry’s mobile ring. Lyra froze, edging back towards the dining room, trying to listen in on Harry’s call.

“Dudley?” she heard Harry’s voice from the other side of the door. Lyra grinned. “Dudley, calm down… what happened? Holy shit. Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Lyra slipped back into the dining room then.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“No,” Harry said finishing off his tea and grabbing a piece of toast. “I have to go.”

“What’s the matter?”

Harry sighed, “Apparently that _was _my aunt and uncle,” he said. “Dudley needs me to help him figure out what to do next.”

“Oh, I see,” Lyra said. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry frowned, “You know, it’s weird. Part of me always wondered how I’d feel when they died.”

“And how do you feel?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know. My aunt was my last connection to my mother, but… it’s not like they cared about me.”

Lyra nodded. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

Harry shook his head, “Nope. I’ll be fine,” he smiled and kissed her softly on the lips, then turned on his heel and apparated out of the room with a loud crack. Lyra stared at the spot where he’d previously been standing, unsure what to make of the whole situation. She had done what she’d wanted, but she had hoped it would make her feel better in the end. If anything she just felt, nothing. Frowning, she finished off her breakfast and her tea and decided to spend the rest of the morning watching telly, to see if there was any more news of the Dursley’s gruesome demise.


End file.
